The Knightly Prince
by BaraTheon Greyjoy
Summary: With a bitterness towards his father, a hatred for Theon Greyjoy, and a chance to be a knight, Arthur Stark heads to Riverrun to be a squire for his uncle, Ser Brynden Tully. How will he change the Game of Thrones? Will he survive? Can he help his family survive? Or will he fail like so many of his ancestors?


I have always hated my name.

It wasn't that it was a particularly _bad_ name. It's just, well, it caused so many _rumours_.

Did Eddard Stark _really_ name his second born after the man who helped the mad prince steal his sister? Did he really honour the sword of the morning before both his brother and his father? _Gasp!_ Did this mean Jon Snow's mother really _was_ Ashara Dayne?

Yes, my name is Arthur Stark and no I don't know why, and no, Jon doesn't know why, and if her reaction to the name Arthur Dayne meant anything, his mother didn't know why either.

Truly Catelyn Stark's reaction would've been funny, if it wasn't so heart breaking.

When I was younger I used to play knights and dragons just like every little boy in Westeros, except it _wasn't_ like every other game. Robb liked to play after his namesake after all and I decided to follow my brother's lead.

Robb and Jon had started their history with the maester at this point and didn't know any better. They started the game. _Jon_ othor Darry and Arthur Dayne vs Robert Baratheon. It seemed like fate at the time. After all, what where the chances that there were three heroes named the same as us.

Yes, I did use those exact words, and yes, I was sick the night I got told the truth of the _noble_ Ser Arthur Dayne as I remember my mother's twisted face every time I shouted, 'For the Dawn.'

Thinking of all the hurt he had put my mother through, I had started to hate my father. I had stopped talking to him and only referred to him as 'my lord', which seemed to hurt him more than not talking to him did for some reason. I had even stopped talking to Jon for a while, blaming him for all my mother had went through.

A crack to the jaw by Robb and a few nights of ice were enough to put me straight though. Everything was fine, or so it seemed. With my newfound bitterness of father, and Jon finding out what bastard _really_ meant, Robb latched on to the nearest thing he had to a peer.

Theon _bloody_ Greyjoy.

Oh, how I hated Theon Greyjoy with his superior attitude, his cocky demeanour, and his strut that said that he was doing everyone a favour by allowing them in his presence. When I was nine I had told how much I thought of him. I told him that he was lucky to be alive and even luckier to be away from a pile of rocks that made the sister islands look like Casterly rock. I told him that his father was the worst king that had ever been in Westeros, and that yes that did count the mad king. And finally, I told him how I wished Balon would rebel, so I could see his head off his fucking body.

Yeah, not the smartest thing I've ever said. In fact, that was the thing that got me shipped off to Riverrun.

My father said something about learning about nobility and justice from a proper knight and mother said I should be happy to meet the rest of my family.

Of course, I knew that was all poppycock. They just wanted me away from Theon Greyjoy, so I didn't cause another rebellion.

I didn't really care to be honest. Robb and I weren't talking anymore and even though I loved my siblings, I wasn't truly close to any of them. Bran was too young, and Arya was young as well, though she had taken to going after Jon at any given moment, causing my mother's last few nerves to fray. Sansa was her mother's daughter and would prefer to play with Jeyne Poole more than anybody else.

That only left Jon, who I had grown surprisingly close to after our little fight. It helps that Jon kind of agreed with what I said about Theon Greyjoy, even if he wished I hadn't said it. That and that we were the gossipmongers favourite talking points helped as well. Eddard Stark's stain on his honour and his little bout of madness. Come see the little freaks of nature. Made me wish I was the imp sometimes.

They wanted me to leave and so leave I did. With a few teary-eyed goodbyes, even managing to give father a hug, I left for Riverrun.

I arrived to Hoster and Edmure Tully standing front and centre to meetme , with my new master to-be, Brynden Tully standing a few feet behind them.

It was a good first few weeks, with the Tully's treating me like a Tully in all but name. Which was true, but Northerners like to tell tales about how cold-hearted the southerners were, so I wasn't hoping for much. It didn't help that while I had the blue Tully eyes, I also had dirty blond hair that was almost brown, which I've been told almost looks like my aunt Lyanna's.

Brynden was the one I saw the most, and with me being his squire after all, it wasn't a surprise.

For the first year of my squirehood, I learnt how to take care of everything. Weapons, armour, horses, everything a knight needs to actually be a knight. Or as Uncle Brynden says, "A knight's only a knight if he looks the part and follows his knight's oath."

He then got me put everything to good use by cleaning his armour and shining his shoes. Which I personally thought was just laziness, but don't mind me, I'm only a squire after all.

The next few years were spent actually learning useful stuff. There was the obvious of course. The sword fighting and the horse riding and the tactics and strategy. But then there was the less obvious. The logistics and the different types of units and how to get men ready for battle. Which was hard when you were a five-foot two piece of shit who couldn't lead a cavalry charge if his life depended on it. Literally.

I was good with a sword though. _Surprisingly good._ It almost started the nickname, 'Sword of the Morning', which I ruthlessly put out of its misery before it could truly start.

Edmure found it hilarious of course. Which wasn't surprising as he found everything funny when he had a few ales in him. Truly if it weren't for that one time where he stopped the rioting of six families and a knightly house who were fighting over six pigs, two sheep and a horse, I would have thought him a drunken lout with no use and a good name. Now I was able to think of him as a drunken lout with a _bit_ of use and a good name.

We didn't talk much though, he was often at Seagard or Fairmarket drinking his fair share of ale.

The Tully I saw the least of was Hoster Tully. He was a serious man who spent most of his time doing his lordly duties or trying to get my uncle Brynden to marry.

It didn't help that he was sick. It started off slowly of course, but as the years went on he got worse to the point that when Jon Arryn's death was announced, the scroll had to be read to him as he couldn't move from his bed.

And that's were our story starts. That's were _all_ stories seem to start. Jon Arryn's death seemed to be the beginning of the end.

This is the story of Arthur Stark, second born son of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully.

This is the story of me.


End file.
